Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?
by Chasing Liquor
Summary: Sooner or later, you've got to meet your partner's father. McKay and Keller take a trip to Wisconsin for just that reason, but wouldn't you know it, things don't go so smoothly for everyone's favorite scientist. McKeller.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: Everybody wants to rule the world, but MGM _does_.

**Spoilers: **Nothing specific, but anything through The Shrine, I suppose.

**Description:** Sooner or later, you've got to meet your partner's father. McKay and Keller take a trip to Wisconsin for just that reason, but wouldn't you know it, things don't go so smoothly for everyone's favorite scientist. McKeller.

**A/N**: This is a bit of a departure for me. I try to include a little bit of humor in my stories, but this is probably my first story where it's a central focus. Now, I may fail miserably at it, though I hope not.

Thanks, by the way, to those anonymous reviewers who have been offering me feedback on my stories. Just wanted to note my appreciation since I can't directly reply to those reviews.

As always, I'd appreciate it if you'd let me know what you think. This story's probably a 3 chapter piece. Worth finishing? Give me the verdict. Thanks so much, and I hope you enjoy.

* * *

**Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?**

* * *

"I mean, how bad could it be?" McKay asked.

"Oh, it could be pretty bad."

"You think?"

"Absolutely," Sheppard said casually, flipping through a magazine. "It's going to be horrible. He's going to hate you."

McKay soured.

"Really?"

"Yeah. If I were you, I'd break up with her and save yourself a trip. And some humiliation. 'Cause believe me, there's gonna be a _lot_ of it."

"But – "

"Hell, I wouldn't bring you home to meet _my_ dad."

McKay frowned.

"Your dad's dead."

"Exactly," Sheppard deadpanned grimly.

McKay looked away, fidgeting with his hands as he disappeared into a reverie. After twenty seconds or so of silence, Sheppard glanced over, sighing at the intense expression on the scientist's face.

"Christ, Rodney, I'm _kidding_," he said. "It'll be fine. What are you so worried about?"

His friend shook his head, standing up out of his chair, looking frantic.

"But… but what if he does hate me?"

"He won't."

"But what if he thinks I'm like some creep robbing the cradle?"

"Well, you are," Sheppard said, "but I'm sure you can work past that."

"I mean, it's not _that_ big a difference. I'm only 39, and she's 27, and people have relationships like that all the time. It's just, usually the guy is like some suave James Bond type, but I'm – "

"You," Sheppard supplied.

" – and I'm not good at talking. The dads, they wanna size the guy up and when I'm being sized up, I just start rambling. When I met Tammy's dad – "

"You dated a _Tammy_?"

" – I started talking about Handball for some reason, and next thing you know, I told him I was on the Olympic team, so I couldn't see her all spring because I was supposed to be off training in Halifax – "

"That's an exotic choice."

" – and by the time I called her again, she was dating some guy named Lance and – "

"Rodney, Rodney," the soldier interrupted, as if greatly put-upon to hear the rantings. "There's this trick I learned that I think can help you out here."

McKay's eyes brightened.

"Really?"

"Yeah. How about you just don't tell outrageous lies that can easily be proven false?"

The scientist sighed in exasperation.

"It's not something I have any control over!" he insisted. "It just comes out. I told Katie's dad I was a mountaineer, and that I foiled a heist in the Rockies."

"Isn't that just the plot of 'Cliffhanger?'"

"Apparently," McKay said quietly.

Sheppard tossed his magazine onto the floor, sitting up in bed now, resting his head against the wall behind him. He couldn't help but feel pity for his friend's tenuous grip on rational thought.

"Honestly, what's the worst that could happen? Even if he hates you – which, don't get me wrong, is _very_ possible – "

McKay frowned again.

" – what difference does it make? Is she just going to break up with you?"

"Well… no, I suppose not."

Sheppard smiled encouragingly.

"There ya go then," he said. "Even if he despises you – "

"Stop _saying_ that!"

" – Jennifer's not going to drop you over it. Trust me, if she breaks up with you, there's a lot better reasons than her dad."

"Your pep talks suck," McKay said after a moment.

Sheppard shrugged, a good-natured grin on his face.

"You want roses and meadows, you talk to Teyla. I'm a truth-teller."

"You're an idiot."

"And yet you seek my advice," Sheppard said.

"Fine. We're both idiots."

The soldier swung his legs over the side of the bed, reaching down to grab his magazine, placing it back on his night stand as he stood, gesturing for McKay to follow him as he ambled toward the door.

"Come on. Let's go eat."

"I'm not very hungry," McKay said distantly, though he followed after him just the same.

* * *

He shook his head quickly – too quickly – and nervously busied himself folding his t-shirts, his back to her. Keller was sitting on the end of the bed, a soft, inquisitive smile on her face.

"What's with you tonight?" she asked.

He turned back sharply.

"Who? Me? Nothing. Nothing's with me."

She nodded placatingly.

"Oh, okay then."

He turned back and continued folding, doing a sloppy and pathetic job of it, but she left him to his task, continuing to observe him. She found it endearing the way he'd try to lie to her, as if he really didn't know that she could get whatever information she wanted from him, whenever she wanted it. It was a joy to have that effect on a person.

McKay surprised her when, contrary to his usual routine in such matters, he spun back and addressed her directly.

"You know what, _no_. There _is_ something wrong!"

He sounded angry, but she knew he wasn't.

"Okay."

His mouth opened and closed a few times, as he tried to gather the courage necessary to continue.

"I'm…" He cleared his throat. "I'm not going."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Oh yeah?"

"I'm not kidding, Jen. I'm not going."

"Of course you're not," she said sweetly, a sly smile twitching her lips.

He turned back to his shirts, making a scene of taking them out of the suitcase one by one, as if he was going to put them back in the drawer.

"Well, um… okay. Good. Sorry I had to put my foot down there, but I am the man in this relationship after all, and as the man, it's incumbent upon me to – ah!"

He was startled mid-sentence as he felt her mouth on his ear, her hands resting on his hips.

"What were you saying?" she asked playfully. "Do continue."

McKay took a shaky breath, then pressed on bravely, "It's incumbent upon me to take control of every sit…u…"

He trailed off as her mouth cut a lazy path from his ear to his jaw, then down his neck, her hands drifting underneath the hem of his shirt.

"This… um… isn't… going to work," he said distantly, closing his eyes and dropping the t-shirt he was holding.

Her hands moved up the skin of his back, and it was just moments before he could feel her fingers begin to press into the muscles, earnestly trying to unknot them. More often than not, this alone would do him in. But just in case, she retraced her mouth's previous path up his neck.

"Still not going?" she murmured against his flesh.

McKay couldn't contain a soft groan.

"I, um… uh…" He sighed in contentment when she began to work on a particularly tight area, and with a quiet voice reserved only for giving in to her, he said, "Okay, we… we can go. As long as you keep doing that."

He could feel her lips curved up in a grin against his jaw.

* * *

"Just pick up a newspaper when you get into town. Look at the Sports page and try to memorize some of the articles. You can talk about those."

"I don't even know what they play there," McKay replied, wringing his hands as they walked.

"Where is it again? Wisconsin?"

"Yeah."

Sheppard thought for a moment.

"Let's see… Milwaukee Bucks, basketball…"

"Are they any good?"

"No, they suck."

"Baseball?"

"Milwaukee Brewers. They suck too," Sheppard said, grabbing McKay's arm to redirect him when he started down the wrong corridor. "Oh, hey, talk about the Packers. Traxel just got back from Earth – says they traded Brett Favre to the Jets."

The name clearly meant nothing to McKay.

"Brett Favre. Is he good?"

"Damn, Rodney, you really don't watch sports, do you?"

"Some of us have better things to do. I choose to spend my time – "

"Handballing for your native land?" Sheppard offered helpfully.

McKay's glare only made him smile more.

"I never should have told you that," the scientist said.

"Hey, we all do crazy things for love. I once claimed to be an underdog boxer from Philadelphia. Or is that just the plot of 'Rocky?'"

"Are you quite finished?" McKay asked stiffly.

As Keller came into view in front of them, Sheppard mimicked a boxer bobbing and weaving, throwing a shadow punch at McKay as he began to move backward in the opposite direction.

"Go get em', champ," the soldier said, turning his back and throwing a wave over his shoulder.

* * *

McKay looked out the window pensively, imagining that the clouds were guardrails, forcing him to stay on his path.

He thought about the first time he flew. It was a forty-five minute flight to Saskatchewan when he was seven years old. He'd been fascinated by everything about the trip, asking very specific questions of the flight attendants. Questions they had no hope of answering, of course. How much fuel does a 747 burn per second? How much is fuel consumption impacted by turbulence and altitude? And of course: what is the mathematic probability that we'll crash?

The memory of his father's cold rebukes that day were still fresh in is mind.

"Lift your head."

He turned, a little startled.

"What?"

"Lift your head," Keller repeated, sliding a pillow underneath it when he obliged.

He smiled, grateful but surprised, and said, "Oh, um… thanks."

"I just didn't want your neck to get stiff. I know it's been bothering you."

McKay, overwhelmed that someone could be that considerate (and that it could be for his benefit), suddenly began a frantic search around the seat with his eyes, until his gaze fell on his unopened bag of peanuts. He held it up like a prize.

"Hey, um, do you want my peanuts?" he asked earnestly.

Keller smiled.

"No, I'm good with mine, thanks."

Next he held up his half-drunk bottle of water.

"Are you thirsty? You can have the rest of – "

"Rodney."

"What?"

"Why don't you just close your eyes and get some sleep?" she suggested.

He shook his head calmly, though the manic energy he presently possessed was still evident in his posture.

"No, no, I'm… I'll…"

She watched him sympathetically. If he ever had any intention of introducing her to his parents, she was pretty sure she'd feel similarly anxious. There was just something so monumentally terrifying about meeting the people who gave life to one you love.

"He's gonna like you, dear," she said generously.

McKay blinked. Then he smiled awkwardly and looked away.

"Yeah. It's not – I … I really want him to." He paused, then looked at her sharply. "Did you call me 'dear?'"

She nodded.

"Would you rather I didn't?"

His eyebrows rose in stereo, forehead crinkling at the center like it always did when he was horrified he'd been misinterpreted.

"No, no, no, no! That's not it at all. It's just – well, no one's ever called me that. Or anything like it. I'm sorry."

She smiled, shaking her head gently.

"What are you apologizing for?"

"I… don't know," he said, frowning. "I tend to just assume I've said something offensive, since I'm… me."

Keller nodded her understanding.

Did it make her the craziest person in two galaxies that she felt the most in love with him when he was the most clueless?

He reached for her hand, and she gave it to him. Then he closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

* * *

McKay was jarred awake as he felt his seat rocking. He cracked his eyes open, half-lucid, grunting as his seat lurched forward again. Glancing over at Keller, he saw that she was asleep.

It took a moment before he finally looked behind him and saw the source of his turbulent ride.

An eight year-old boy smirked at him, undeterred at being caught, continuing to kick McKay's seat joyfully.

"Ha ha!" he cackled.

"Stop that!" the elder demanded.

"Make me."

"What?!"

"You heard me," the boy mocked, punctuating it with a hard kick.

McKay's face contorted into an unbecoming glare.

"Listen here, you little brat! You better stop that right now, or so help me God, you will regret it! I'm older than you, bigger than you, and I have enough connections to get you extradited to Egypt as a suspected terrorist! Ever heard of extreme rendition?!"

The boy whitened.

"Yeah, that's what I thought, Dennis the Menace."

McKay turned back around, looking utterly satisfied with himself.

Until, of course, he glanced past the sleeping Keller across the aisle and saw two old women regarding him with utter shock and disgust.

He shifted his eyes uncomfortably before smiling awkwardly and waving to them.

"Hey there. Don't worry. Everything's under control," he assured them, fighting the urge to frown as they stared back at him with loathing. "Just… trying to prepare him for life's disappointments."

They continued to stare, unmoved, and McKay finally cleared his throat, looking away.

"Right then."

* * *

When they finally recovered their bags from the conveyer belt, Keller led him through the airport to the arrival gate, where various limousine drivers were holding up the names of their parties, cabbies were searching for potential fares, and an amalgamation of others awaited their loved ones.

She finally picked her father out of the crowd, waving to him excitedly. He waved back, moving to meet her halfway when she hurried toward him.

They hugged one another tightly and exchanged enthusiastic greetings, and McKay slowly walked over to join them, stretching out the journey as best he could. It wasn't long, though, before he was standing beside them, smiling uncomfortably as the father and daughter pulled back.

Keller grasped McKay at the elbow.

"Rodney, this is my father. And dad, this is Rodney McKay."

"Ah, yes. The boyfriend," her father remarked skeptically, giving the scientist a chilling once-over. "So, you're some star-watcher, right?"

McKay felt a rush of snark coming on, but his desperate drive to be liked and not embarrassed convinced him to reply more evenly.

"Yes, well, something like that," he said, forcing his smile to remain. "It's good to meet you, Mr. Keller."

He extended his hand, very nearly retracting it before the man finally took it after several seconds. McKay winced, feeling as though his fingers were being crushed in a vise.

Keller interjected herself.

"Anyway, Dad, why don't you go pull the car around and we'll meet you out by the curb?"

Her father nodded, giving her a small smile.

"Sure. I'll see you out there," he said. "Oh, and by the way, George is coming by for dinner tonight."

Keller's face registered her immense surprise and, at least to McKay's eyes, displeasure. But she quickly hid it.

"George. Okay. Yeah, that's great."

Her father nodded, then walked off.

When McKay was entirely certain the man was out of earshot, he turned to Keller with a deep frown.

"Please tell me George is some 75 year-old with prostate problems."

Keller took in and let out a deep breath, regarding him diplomatically and with apology.

"I wish I could, but he's… sort of my ex."

McKay groaned, his head dropping and flopping around for a moment as if his collarbone weren't there.

"Wonderful. Even _more_ opportunity for your father not to take to me."

"Hey, come on. He shook your hand, didn't he?"

"Oh, yeah, that was a warm exchange. I can tell he's partial to 'star-watchers.'"

Keller rolled her eyes.

"I couldn't exactly tell him you were the head scientist for an intergalactic expedition, could I?"

McKay sighed, reaching down to pick up her bags.

"I know, I know," he mumbled. "It's okay. George doesn't do something cool, does he?"

Keller flinched.

"What?" he asked.

"Actually, he's a famous soccer player."

McKay shook his head incredulously.

"What? You're from Wisconsin. Where the hell did you meet a soccer player?"

She watched him struggle with all of their bags, his lone bag over one shoulder, one of hers over the other, and her two remaining ones in his hands.

"I did a brief rotation at a hospital in Athens."

"So he's Greek?"

"Yeah."

"Great. So you bring home a star-watcher and your dad's got Odysseus waiting."

Keller laughed softly, forcibly taking one of the bags off his shoulder in fear for his neck.

"Rodney, what are you so worried about? He doesn't get to choose who I go out with; this isn't 'Fiddler on the Roof.'"

McKay sighed, but said nothing, and when he trailed away from their path toward the door, she trailed with him, asking, "What are you doing?"

"I have to pick up a newspaper," he said, his voice so utterly desperate.

* * *

The car ride to her house didn't start out so awkward.

Keller and her father caught up – though Keller herself could hardly be _too_ forthcoming about what she'd been up to – sharing small talk about neighbors, local happenings, and getting used to one another again.

But about ten minutes into the drive, with twenty more left to go, Keller's father glanced at McKay in the rearview mirror.

"So, _Rod_ney," the man said, his overpronunciation of the first syllable seeming like a condemnation, "you a sports fan?"

McKay glanced helplessly at the newspaper in his hands, then back at the father.

"Uh, yeah… I sure am," he said, drawing a raised eyebrow from his girlfriend. "Football, baseball, you name it. Big sports fan."

"What did you think of that Mo Williams trade a couple weeks ago?"

"Oh, um… he's…" He didn't know the name, so he had to guess the sport. "I hear he's a great hitter."

"What are you talking about? He's a basketball player," Keller's father bellowed.

McKay moved desperately to cover his tracks, eyes growing wide.

"Yeah, well, um, of course he is! I meant, if there were ever a… fight during the game, then he'd… you know, hit some people." He cleared his throat. "Pretty hard."

Keller, watching the exchange with amusement, but also cringing on McKay's behalf, quickly inserted herself into the conversation, redirecting it.

"So, dad, what are we having for dinner?"

McKay tuned the conversation out, Keller thankfully preventing it from further including him, and he thought the whole rest of the drive about how this weekend would be the death of him. A slow, slow, painful, humiliating death.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks very, very much to everyone who left a review. I greatly appreciate it.

I hope this next chapter is to your liking. It's not as snap-snap quick in its banter. But hopefully it's enjoyable all the same. Let me know what you think, and thanks for reading.

* * *

It wasn't much different than she remembered it. The grass was too tall and one of the porch pillars was scuffed up by the elements, but otherwise everything was in good shape. The wicker chairs she and her father used to have long talks in were still there, and she felt a rush of nostalgia as she and McKay followed the elder man to the door.

"The lawn could use a cut, Dad," Keller remarked, holding the door open for McKay, who stumbled in holding all of their bags.

"Yeah, well, I spent my time getting ready for you and _Rod_ney," her father replied glibly.

Keller sighed, giving her boyfriend a sidelong look of apology as she grabbed one of the bags out of his hand.

"Let's go put our stuff down upstairs," she said.

It shouldn't have surprised her, but it did, when her father placed a hand on the scientist's arm, halting him. McKay regarded him inquisitively.

"No need to lug your bag upstairs, son," her father said.

"Uh… pardon?"

"We'll just leave it down here by the door, since you'll be taking it with you later."

McKay looked at Keller, blinking before glancing back at her dad.

"Taking it with me where?"

"To the Red Roof Inn," Keller's father said with a wide, false smile, fishing out a key card and pressing it into the scientist's hand. "Now hold on to this, or the concierge won't let you upstairs."

McKay frowned.

"Conci–what?"

"Don't worry. I checked, and there's free Wi-Fi. Plus a continental breakfast, which by the looks of things – " He gestured to the scientist's stomach. " – is good news for you."

McKay's eyes shot down to his belly, and he raised a hand to it with a glower.

"Dad, stop it, would you?" Keller intervened, irritated. "You're making this weird. He's not staying at a hotel."

"Jennifer, he'll be much more comfortable there than sleeping on the couch."

"Who says he's sleeping on the couch?" she asked coolly.

McKay stiffened. Oh shit.

"What?! I can't believe you would even contemplate the _idea_ of taking a man into your bed in this house," her father bellowed with a confoundment unbecoming of a man with a grown daughter. "Frankly, I'm more than a little disappointed that you think it's acceptable to – "

Keller rolled her eyes.

"Oh, come on, Dad. I'm not sixteen, and I'm not a nun. I know it's a shock to you, but me and Rodney have _sex_," she declared, McKay visibly flinching at the word. "A _lot_."

Her father looked at her for a long moment, mouth agape in shattered denial, and then he turned his narrowing eyes on McKay.

"I, um – I wouldn't say a _lot_," the scientist assured him. "Like, once a – twice a week." He ducked his head, looking down at the floor, and added quietly, "Maybe three."

Keller gave him a withering look, then faced her father again, cutting him off before he could speak.

"Dad, I know you mean well, but you have to stop. Either we both stay here tonight, or neither of us stays."

The elder Keller shook his head incredulously.

"You're here five minutes and he's already got you handing out ultimatums?"

"Hey! They're not _my_ ultimatums," McKay interjected. "I was perfectly happy to stay at the Red Roof. I mean – free Wi-Fi, breakfast. It sounds like a _palace_!"

Keller's glare rightly humbled him, and he put his head down again. She looked on her father with her last thread of patience.

"Let's not do this, Dad, okay? We've only got two days here. I don't want to spend them fighting."

Her father took in a long, heavy breath, considering the matter. McKay was utterly rigid with tension, looking between father and daughter. He'd expected this weekend to be agonizing, but it was peaking pretty early, he thought.

"All right," the older man said finally, though he clearly wasn't satisfied in doing so. "Go… get squared away upstairs. I'll start on dinner."

McKay thought to stumble through a thank-you, but Keller's hand on his arm silenced him.

He quietly gathered up their bags, Keller in tow, and trudged up the stairs as her father disappeared into the kitchen.

As soon as they entered her room, preserved just as it was when she was living there, feminine but not particularly childish, the curtains and bed sheets and general color scheme light blue, McKay dropped their bags on the floor, and turned immediately to face her, wearing an expression split between frustration and apology.

"Okay, if that wasn't _hate_ to you, then you had a pretty bad childhood," he said sharply. "I thought I was on 'To Catch a Predator' down there!"

Keller smiled, laughing softly, and crossed the distance between them, circling her arms around his waist and pressing her head against his chest. He instinctively returned the embrace, sighing tiredly.

"I'm sorry about that," she said. "I don't know what's gotten into him."

He shook his head against the top of hers.

"No, it's fine. It's not your fault. Plus, I kind of threw you under the bus there."

"Yeah, you sure did."

This time it was McKay who softly laughed, smiling at the lack of accusation in her voice. He pulled back shortly thereafter, leaning down and dropping a kiss on her lips.

Then he took full stock of her room for the first time, his eyes falling with surprise and amusement on a framed eight by ten photograph on her dresser. She cringed as soon as he saw it, watching caustically as he ambled over and picked it up.

It was an autographed black and white shot.

He read the text aloud, a huge grin on his face: "To Jennifer, my biggest fan. Keep dreaming – Doogie Howser."

Keller's mouth turned down at the corners.

"Yeah," she mumbled.

"Is there some reason he signed his fictional character name?"

"I… sort of asked him to," Keller admitted, feeling her cheeks flush.

"So, you were a crazed stalker, basically."

"I absolutely was _not_."

"Is there another explanation?"

Keller sought one for a moment, then gestured awkwardly to the door.

"We should… probably get downstairs. Don't wanna leave Dad waiting."

McKay nodded, as if satisfied to let it go, and he followed her out of her room, but as they walked down the hallway, he wore a sly smile still and asked, "Are there any other deranged crushes I should know about?"

"Shut up, Rodney."

* * *

Keller's father ordered them in no uncertain terms to stay out of the kitchen, lest they ruin the meal he was taking such pains to prepare.

That left McKay and Keller to wait down the hall in the living room.

She folded her legs up underneath her on the couch, facing him, and she held in her hands an old, frayed scrapbook she'd found on the bookshelf. He smiled faintly, watching her.

"What's that?"

"Just some old photographs. Most of them are from when I was a kid."

McKay's smiled widened almost imperceptibly, but Keller knew him too well not to notice.

"Don't get your hopes up," she said. "I don't think there's anything _too_ embarrassing here."

"Well, we won't know until you open it, will we?"

She obliged him, opening the scrapbook to the first page. Unfortunately, the first photograph was a shot of her at age five, holding a Fisher-Price stethoscope to the chest of an uncooperative tabby cat, whose claws were out and raised defensively.

McKay's chest bubbled up with laughter almost instantly, and Keller could only sigh as she watched him.

"That cat's looking at you like you're Hitler," he said.

"Yeah, well, you didn't look much different when Carson would treat you."

"That's because he was a sadist. Are you trying to admit to something?"

"Careful. You're do for a physical next month," she said, and somehow the look she gave the man legitimately unnerved him, because he cast his eyes back down and glanced at the next picture, a shot of a seven year-old Keller and a woman who looked just like her.

"Is that your mom?" he asked.

"Yeah. She looks so young there."

He nodded, eyes softening.

"She, um… she was pretty."

Keller smiled a moment, and then was struck by a memory, flipping through the pages in search of something specific. He watched curiously, eyes following hers, until she found what she sought.

The two pages were full of photos from the wedding of Keller's parents.

Her father didn't look much different, except that his hair was brown, not gray-white, and the lines on his face weren't as deep. His tuxedo looked cheap, and his wife's wedding dress was simple, but each snapshot was brimming with the joy of that day.

Keller smiled wistfully as her eyes flicked over the images.

"I always loved these pictures when I was a kid," she said.

"How come?"

"I don't know. I guess they just look happy. I always imagined it would be me some day."

"Well, it will be," he said casually.

He'd meant it as a platitude, but his chest tightened when he looked over and saw her smile inquiringly, eyebrows just slightly raised.

"Not that – not – it won't be me. I mean, it _could_ be me. It's not like that would be horrible or anything. It wouldn't be horrible at all, in fact; it would be great! Well, I mean, if you wanted. Not that I'm asking! But not that I _won't_ ask. Just, um… you know, not right now."

Keller smiled blithely.

"Is that your final answer?"

McKay entertained the question as if she were serious, replying after a moment, "I think so."

She let out a small laugh, placing the scrapbook on the coffee table in front of them, and she affectionately scratched the back of his head as she stood.

"I'm gonna go wash up," she said.

McKay nodded as she left, his heart and brain only then rebooting. That was the last thing this weekend needed: talk of matrimony. Not that he hadn't thought of it before, of course, because he had.

He leaned forward to take another look at the photos from her parents' wedding. They did look happy, he thought.

With her mother gone, these were amongst the last remnants Keller possessed of her.

He blindly reached for his mug of coffee beside the scrapbook. And it was then that the unthinkable happened.

His clumsy hand knocked the mug over, and before he could even process the error, the open pages of the scrapbook were soaked in java.

McKay gasped.

"Oh no. No no no no!"

His eyes moved about frantically, searching for a napkin or a towel or anything of the sort. But there was nothing. Nothing. And the coffee was sinking down into the photos.

Keller would kill him. Slowly. And he'd deserve it. And God only knows what her Dad would do.

He could faintly hear, but paid no mind to, the sound of a doorbell, as he desperately leaned down over the table, using the bottom of his shirt to try to absorb the coffee. But there was just too much to soak up at this awkward angle.

In a fit of utter insanity that would haunt him for years to come, he leaned back, pulled his t-shirt up over his head, and began a manic wiping of the scrapbook with it.

It's okay. It's good. It's all good. Look at that, it's coming right up. It'll be good as – okay, it's not coming up. Matter of fact, it's stained beyond recognition. Oh God. No. Not good. Okay, it's all right. You're good. How exactly is that? You are _so_ not good!

He leapt to his feet, slamming the scrapbook closed, holding it under his arm and turning toward the book shelf, resolving himself to hide the evidence.

Unfortunately for him, it wasn't but a moment later that he could hear Keller's voice from the connecting room.

"His name's Rodney," she said to someone.

"And he… watches stars?" another voice asked, sounding distinctly Mediterranean.

McKay's heart stopped. The Greek's odyssey was over.

The bookshelf seemed so far away.

Scanning the area once again, he dropped the scrapbook on the floor, trying futilely to kick it under the couch, wasting a full two or three seconds before he realized it wouldn't fit.

He dropped down to his knees to retrieve it, but miscalculated the space between the couch and the coffee table, and on his way down, he tipped the table over, all of its contents – McKay's mug, Keller's water, a pair of candles, two coasters, and a crystal dish – tumbling off to the floor, Keller's water spilling first on McKay, and then on the couch and carpet.

It was in that position, wet and on his knees next to the scrapbook, and holding his t-shirt beside the turned-over table, that Keller and George found him when they walked in.

Her gasp seemed to bounce off the walls and hit his ears a hundred times.

"Rodney!"

McKay turned, staring back at her like a deer about to be run over. He slowly crossed his arms over his chest self-consciously.

"It's… not what it looks like," he said.

Keller stared back at him incredulously.

"I don't even _know_ what it looks like!"

McKay, perhaps simply to avoid the rightfully scathing look she was giving him, turned his eyes to George, who looked much the part of the suave celebrity, clad in expensive-looking jeans and a white oxford shirt, three buttons undone and the cuffs rolled up.

The scientist stuck his chin up defiantly.

"Hello, George," his strained voice greeted.

The Greek looked back at him with smug contumely.

"Hi, Rodney," he returned.

McKay, even in this most humble of predicaments, found the nerve to look the man over.

"You're shorter than I thought you'd be."

George blinked.

"You're wearing less clothes than I thought you'd be."

Keller looked between both men, who stared at one another in a struggle to decide the Alpha Male, and she found their ability to ignore the specifics of this situation disturbing.

"Okay, this is getting uncomfortable," she said grimly. "Rodney, just…" She looked him over, shaking her head, a manic, disbelieving laugh escaping her. "Go change. Please. Before my dad sees you."

McKay calmly rose to his feet, before moving to pick the table back up.

"I'll get it!" Keller exclaimed, her hands extended in a placating gesture. "Just… go change."

The scientist nodded, ducking his head a moment in total embarrassment. No, it was more than embarrassment. It was an utter devastation of dignity unlike any he could recall.

He crossed the room with a false calm, his damp t-shirt lifted to cover himself where he could.

And with a bravado no one in the universe but McKay could muster, he paused beside the Greek before he passed him, inclining his head with mock-politeness.

"George."

"Rodney."

Then the scientist left their company, disappearing into the foyer and up the staircase.

Keller ducked her own head, avoiding George's eyes as she walked over to the couch, turning the table back upright and repopulating it with its items. George helped her, though he wore a smirk while he did it.

"So, that is your… boyfriend?" he asked, his accent a little thicker.

"It would seem so."

"Does he… often act in such a way?"

Keller paused as she was picking up the scrapbook.

"Well, he acts in a lot of ways," she said, "but yeah, that's one of them."

It was only then that she saw a brown stain peeking out from inside the photo collection. She frowned, and immediately pieced together Rodney's accident.

Slowly opening the book, she slammed it shut again when she confirmed what had happened.

"Okay then," she said, suddenly nervous and shifty. "I'm just… going to go… put this somewhere…"

"Is everything all right?" George asked.

"Great! Great! Everything is just so great. But I'm going to…" She began backing away from him. "I'm – I'll be right back!"

He nodded, smiling cryptically, and his eyes roamed over the back of her briefly when she finally turned and left the room.

She looked just as good as he remembered.


End file.
